


Nooks and Crannies - Forty Rifles

by kete



Series: Nooks and Crannies [2]
Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, different POV, gapfiller, second episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kete/pseuds/kete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second episode retold from Silas' POV: Heath has to prove himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nooks and Crannies - Forty Rifles

Lord, he works that boy hard! Mr. Nick that is. I think he accepts now, even if he don't like it, that Mr. Heath is here to stay, but he cuts him no slack, drivin' him merciless. It's "Heath, do that" and "Heath, look after this" from dawn till dusk. But however hard he pushes him, the boy just comes back for more. He seems to understand that Mr. Nick's respect, though hard won, s'worth havin' and so he holds out. Not that he ain't used to hard work, I dare say he is, p'raps even likes it, but he sure is tired when they come home in the evenin' and he don't last long after dinner.

Seems the railroad done lost its nerve, there ain't been no more trouble and most of the hired guns have left town, seems like. Mr. Wirth been left alone and the Swenson family has started rebuildin' their house. Only poor Mrs. Sample and her children done left their home, the property's up for sale. Now 'tis all back in court and that's Mr. Jarrod's battle to fight.

'Round here we've had a few changes, but that's gotta be expected with a new family member livin' in the house and all. Things are still a bit awkward, of course. Mr. Heath, he's so shy 'round Miz Victoria, like he thinks, if he's real quiet and don't speak and don't move, she won't notice him. I can see it hurts her some, but she leaves him be and don't badger him, like with one of them wild mustangs what you've gotta gentle first 'fore you can touch it.

He's respectful towards them all and polite. Though he ain't the most polished young man, his mama done raised him right. I think he's naturly gallant, like with Miss Audra, when she done made her famous dessert - you 'member that crem-broo-lay? - well, the second batch din't turn out too bad, although it was a bit lumpy and burnt on the bottom as well as on top. Anyways, when it's served that night, they all don't like it much and Mr. Nick makes a face and pushes his plate away. Mr. Heath's the only one to eat up and even asks for more and when I serve him a second portion, he winks at me like we was in it together. That was right nice of him. Yes, Miss Audra and him they really done taken to each other. And even my pan has survived this time.

He gets along well enough with Mr. Eugene, too. You'd think now that Mr. Eugene p'raps wouldn't like to have another older brother, him bein' ever the youngest and not taken quite serious. But Mr. Heath bein' here takes Mr. Nick's attention away from Mr. Eugene and he's nearly given up needlin' him and shovin' him 'round. He done got someone else to shove now. And someone who can take it better.

I din't really expect there bein' problems with Mr. Jarrod and there ain't none so far. Mr. Jarrod done made up his mind and stands by his word and he's tolerant and friendly. And I think Mr. Heath accepts him as an older brother. And anyways they haven't much to do with each other durin' the day.

It's Mr. Nick he's with out there from mornin' till night and he's still testin' him. Another problem is the hands. They're hostile-like.

When the family done decided to take the boy in, they done decided, too, that they'd stand by him and not pussyfoot 'round the fact that he's Mr. Tom's boy. Miz Victoria, she done wrote to the family, Mr. Tom's brothers and sisters back East and her own sister in Denver, and Mr. Jarrod done told like everyone in Stockton and introduced him to the mayor and the sheriff and at the bank and the store and such.

And Mr. Nick done told the hands. Now, you'd think, what would they care? It's not as if the boy's been one of them for long. He din't even spend a whole night in the bunkhouse! But it's Mr. Nick as makes it difficult. He done said that Mr. Heath's his brother and they're supposed to obey his orders - but he don't treat him like. He treats him worse than one of them, shooin' him 'round all day and always growlin' at him. So's they don't respect him much, seein' as his own brother treats him like he does.

Anyways, it's been two weeks since Mr. Heath done come here and now's the time for the cattle drive. Mr. Jarrod, he done got a good deal down in San Diego and they're drivin' three thousand head down there to market, five hundred fifty miles in twenty-four days. And not only Barkley cattle, but 'bout half of them belongin' to Mr. Royce, Mr. de Koven, Mr. Carr and Mr. Fries.

**********

I'm in my kitchen workin' on dinner when Mr. Nick comes stompin' in and bellows, "Hot water?"

"But of course," I say, knowin' full well he likes his bath - and hot! - when he comes in of an evenin' and havin' the fire goin' under the big boiler that serves the pump in the bathroom.

Someone done riled him good. A while later I hear the water gurglin' in the pipes and hope that a fine soak will do him good.

I'm just bastin' the roast when there's shoutin' and hollerin' outside from the bunkhouse. I can hear Sal Li - he's the cook as makes the hands' dinner - screechin', "File, file!" and hurry to the kitchen window. There's a lot of turmoil 'round the cookhouse and the men are fillin' buckets from the horse trough, throwin' the water inside while black smoke is billowin' from windows and doors. And there's a stranger there, sittin' on a huge white horse, watchin' the commotion. Then, sudden-like, he dismounts and throws himself into the trough. I think that it's a mite untimely takin' a bath right now when the water's needed elsewhere and in his clothes no less, when he runs into the cookhouse and only a minute later comes back out, carryin' one of them hands who looks pretty dead. Pr'aps I still have time to make somethin' else for dinner.

Mr. Nick, still fully dressed, comes runnin' down the kitchen stairs again and storms outside. As I watch, he greets the stranger, pumpin' his hand and leadin' him over to the front door, like he's some long lost brother. Seems we have a guest for dinner. The dead man been only senseless, after all. He comes to and sits up and I can see it's one fellow named Barrett. I've only had to do with him once, when Miz Victoria done sent me with a message for Mr. Nick, but then he done scowled at me without no good reason. I think I'll serve the roast tonight.

Then I see Mr. Heath come stumblin' to the kitchen door and I run outside. He can barely keep himself upright and clutches at his ribs. His face is bloody and his new blue shirt's all torn and filthy.

"Oh, Mr. Heath, you know better'n that," I say, slippin' under his arm and proppin' him up. He been in a fight again, but I don't think 'tis Mr. Nick as thumped him this time.

I support him into the kitchen and he sinks into one of them kitchen chairs. I've a right mind puttin' him into the bath tub now, seein' as he needs it more'n Mr. Nick, but I know that won't do and by the time Mr. Nick's done there'll be no hot water left. Mr. Heath's taken to havin' a quick dive into the swimmin' hole 'fore dinner, but it don't look like he's had time for that today. So I wet a cloth and start dabbin' at his face. He takes it from me gently and says," I'm fine, Silas, just gimme a moment."

"Uh huh," I say. He don't look fine to me.

I pour him a glass of water, which he accepts. And then he says, "I'll go wash up, Silas," and slowly takes himself up the kitchen stairs, leanin' on the banister real heavy.

I rummage 'round in the cabinets, find the liniment and hasten after him. When I knock and enter, he's just peelin' off his shirt. He's frownin' at me and I hold out the bottle.

"Liniment," I say.

He's badly in need of it, s'far as I can see, big black bruises already formin' on his chest and stomach.

"Oh," he says. "You shouldn't have. I just use the blue stuff."

"Blue stuff?"

"It's for the horses," he explains.

"Horses?!" I say.

He shrugs. "Works on people, too."

"Now, Mr. Heath," I say firmly, "you ain't no horse, so you don't use any blue stuff on you. You use this here liniment. The doctor has it special made and it's what we use here."

He grins and says, "If you say so."

"Now you wash up and then I put this on you. How did you do that anyways?"

He turns to the wash stand and says, "Fell off my horse."

I just snort. As he's washin' up I can see his back's turning black and blue, too. So's when he's finished, I make him sit on the bedside and then go 'bout rubbin' the liniment into his shoulders and down his back. He flinches when I touch him and I can tell he's not comfortable havin' someone do for him. That's too bad, but I can't be considerate right now, 'cause how he thinks he can treat his back - blue stuff or no - is beyond me. This boy's had a cruel hard life. He's full of scars, though most have healed quite nicely. His skin's hot to the touch and the muscles tensin' under my hands. If he was a horse he would be quiverin' like they do shooin' off flies. He's bashful though and I can see the tips of his ears turnin' pink. As I don't want to harry him, I stop when I've done his back, push the bottle into his hands and say, "Now you put that on your chest and ribs and then you dress nice, you hear, 'cause we have a guest for dinner."

"Yes, Silas," he says, soundin' like a good little boy and adds, "and thank you for lookin' after me."

"'Bout time someone does," I grumble and leave him alone.

Horses! I ask you!

**********

A while later, I'm just peelin' potatoes, I hear Mr. Nick shoutin', "Silas!" but 'fore I can go lookin' Mr. Eugene comes runnin' into the kitchen and says, "Hey, Silas, we have a guest tonight!" and then Miz Victoria comes sweepin' in, lookin' all regal-like in her new dress, and asks me to help her change the bed linens in Mr. Nick's bedroom and set a place more at the table. The master bedroom! It been Mr. Tom's and Miz Victoria's, but she done give it up a few years ago, when Mr. Nick done turned twenty-five and it been his since then. That must be some guest!

When we're up in Mr. Nick's room, he comes in, still in his work things, and starts pullin' fresh clothes from his dresser.

"Silas," he says, "you make sure the General has everything he needs! I'll bunk in the guest room tonight. I'll need hot water there. - I'll go change now, mother."

So he's a general, that man on the big white horse. And Mr. Nick not only done give him the best bedroom, he done taken Mr. Nick's bath!

When I set the table, I see that Mr. Jarrod done taken out the real good wine, a Haut-Brion 55, and popped the cork to let it breathe. I hope the roast turns out right. I still have to peel my potatoes!

He's sure mighty impressive, that general. He's a big man, taller'n Mr. Nick even! And his clothes are mighty fine. Also he's right charmin' when he's leadin' the conversation at the dinner table. He's very respectful towards Miz Victoria, talks politics with Mr. Jarrod and exchanges war stories with Mr. Nick. Miss Audra's totally smitten with him, I can tell. She's wearin' that extra low-cut dress. Tsk. The only one who don't say a word is Mr. Heath. But no one notices 'cause he's usually so quiet, that his bein' silent makes no difference to them, occupied as they're with this fascinatin' character. The roast is well received and even I get my share of attention as he compliments me on it. He don't pay no attention to Mr. Heath.

After dinner, when I've served the coffee, I go out to have a word with Sal Li. I find him in the cookhouse, where he's sortin' through his pans and spoons and mutterin' to himself. He's a tiny little fellow and excitable as a parakeet.

"Ne hao!" he says and bows.

"Nee how!" I answer and bow back. "What happened tonight, Sal Li?" I ask, speakin' slowly and as clear as I can.

His wispy beard's a-quiverin' and he lets loose with a stream of Chinese which I, of course, don't understand a word. I wait till he's calmed down a bit and then he says, "Dat Mistel Heas, he no good bastald!"

I take a deep breath. It's no good rufflin' his feathers when I want him to tell me anythin'.

"Bulnin' my kitchen! Whel I cook, huh?"

"Mr. Heath has burned down the kitchen?" I say. "How come?"

He nods, agitated-like, and waves his arms 'round, flappin' his long sleeves.

"All hand laughin'. He come in. All hand not laughin'. He take coffee. He sit down. Why he in my kitchen, huh?"

"So, all hands laughin' until Mr. Heath comes in?" I try to make sense of his tale. "And then they stop?"

He nods again.

"Why they laughin'?" I say.

"He sack Mistel Ballett. Mistel Nick not sack Mistel Ballett."

Slowly I begin to understand. "And then?" I ask.

"He say Mistel McCall all hand out. Cook too. Why he say dat, huh? My kitchen."

"He sent everybody out?"

"Evelybody! My kitchen."

"And then?"

He breathes deep, wide-eyed, and chatters in Chinese at length. From his pantomime I takes it there's been a fight.

"They fight? Barrett and Mr. Heath?"

He nods and thumps his fist into the palm of his other hand.

"No good. No good bastald!" he says, shakin' his head.

While we're talkin' I see the general comin' down from the house. He ambles over to the bunkhouse and vanishes inside. Now, that strikes me as a mite funny. Why would someone who's just been served the good Haut-Brion go visitin' the hands at night?

I pat Sal Li's shoulder and say, "Thank you, Sal Li. But listen: Mr. Heath is Mr. Tom Barkley's son. You understand? Mr. Nick's brother. Don't speak of him like that."

He throws me a crooked glance and shakes his head. "My kitchen."

"That was an accident, I'm sure" I say, suddenly tired and take my leave.

This night it takes me a long time to settle down. Mr. Heath is out ridin' herd, which he shouldn't, beaten up like he is. I've had no idea it was so bad. But there's nothin' I can do. I'm sure he wouldn't like me tellin' Miz Victoria.

When I come out in the mornin', he's sittin' in the kitchen, sippin' coffee, lookin' tired.

"How you doin'?" I blurt out.

"I'm fine, Silas," he says quietly.

"Hmph," I say. "Have you slept at all?"

"I'll sleep tonight," he says. "Don't worry."

Mr. Nick comes clompin' down the stairs and sends him out again.

**********

After breakfast they're bringin' in Mr. de Koven's steers, the last of the bunch. The herd is now complete, all ready to go tomorrow at daybreak.

When I do the bedrooms, I find Mr. Heath's blue shirt. Seems when he fell off his horse, it done dropped him in a coffee puddle. We're busy with preparations all day and I help Sal Li pack the wagon. I've packed a crate with apples - all extra wrapped-up in cloth so's they don't get brown when they ride in that bumpy wagon - 'cause I know Mr. Heath likes them. There's a lot to take for more'n forty men and twenty-four days.

In the evenin' there's a big discussion 'bout which route to take, as it seems that Mr. Nick been wrong 'bout some lake or other, so's they've to go 'nother way than planned. The general's to join them now and makes a big show 'bout how he don't want to be a nuisance and can't tell the front of a steer from the back end. What 'bout them horns?

Mr. Heath is watchin' him and I can tell, he got somethin' on his mind, but he don't say a word. Not that anybody could get a word in edgewise the way Mr. Nick's fussin' over that man.

Later I see Miz Victoria and Mr. Heath standin' at the window, talkin', and while she stands close to him he puts his arm 'round her shoulders so tenderly, I've to swallow and look away. It's the first time I seen him do that.

At least Mr. Heath's allowed to sleep this night.

The next mornin' after breakfast they take off. You can hear the cattle bleatin' and the hands yellin' and the big dust cloud hangs in the air even an hour after they're gone.

"Now you watch over that boy of yours, Mr. Barkley, sir," I tell the portrait when I'm dustin' in the library. "I don't want no harm to come to him!"

Tomorrow Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Eugene will leave for San Francisco, Mr. Jarrod to see to his office there and Mr. Eugene to go back to college.

**********

As I've expected, Miz Victoria done decided to use the time with the men all away to do a thorough house cleanin' - much to Miss Audra's dismay. A whole brigade of women folk comes from all over the neighborhood and the next few days, ordered 'round by Ciego's wife Consuela, we're clearin' away furniture, takin' off the curtains for washin', washin' the windows, takin' out the carpets for beatin', dustin' the wallpapers, polishin' the crystal chandeliers and waxin' the floors and the wainscotin' 'til you can see your reflection in every shiny surface.

In the yard the few remainin' men are workin' on the cookhouse. It wasn't burnt down totally, but still there's some damage and Miz Victoria done decided that since it has to be worked on anyways to make it bigger and more stable. Also she done ordered a secure stove. I think Sal Li will be mighty pleased when he comes back.

Durin' the day when I'm busy all's fine, but in the evenin' when the house is so quiet, I worry. It's a funny thing how you can get so used to somethin' or someone so fast. Mr. Heath, he only been here for two weeks like, but in the mornin' when I come into the kitchen first and he ain't there, I miss him. I wonder how he's doin'. Forty men all out to make your life a misery sure ain't no easy cross to bear. Leastwise he's got Mr. Nick. He may not like him much, but I don't think he'd let nothin' happen to him.

Miz Victoria, she's worried, too. For when I'm waxin' the furniture in Mr. Heath's room one day, she comes in and says, "You fret, don't you, Silas?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, "I do."

"Me too, Silas, me too," she says and pats my shoulder.

"You know something... about what happened... with the hands the other night, don't you?" she asks hesitantly, bitin' her lip.

I nod. She just looks at me - and so I tell her.

"Oh, Silas," she says, "what will come of it?"

We look at each other and now we worry together. Misery likes company.

It's ten days since Mr. Nick and Mr. Heath done set out with the herd when the telegram arrives.

"Shot stop send railcar stop Bakersfield stop Nick," it says in his typical no nonsense delivery.

Miz Victoria, she's a lady what rises to a challenge. Inside two hours she done telegraphed her sons in San Francisco, ordered their railcar attached to the next train goin' south and is packin' her valise.

Three hours after the first a second telegram arrives.

"Don't worry," it says.

Now, Mr. Jarrod's comin' back from San Francisco, bringin' the railcar. Tomorrow he's to meet his mother at the station where the car's to be attached to a train leavin' south. Mr. Eugene's to stay at school. Miss Audra's to stay at home. I'm beat.

**********

Three days later they're back, Mr. Nick's leanin' on Mr. Jarrod on one side and on a cane on the other, his right leg's bandaged and a black cloud is hoverin' above him. His mother and brother have the worn out look of people jus' arrivin' west after a half year's wagon trek.

Miss Audra done prepared the settee in the parlor for her brother to rest on. There's cushions and pillows and blankets, a pouf for his injured leg and on a nearby table a tray with a water carafe, a small decanter with whisky, glasses and the newest issue of the "Rancher's Almanac".

Miz Victoria and Mr. Jarrod 'scuse themselves to freshen up, leavin' the injured grizzly to the tender cares of his sister and myself.

"Silas, you old scamp," he greets me. "Bring me some coffee, would you."

"How you doin', Mr. Nick?" I ask.

He waves the question aside and I hurry to the kitchen to get the coffee brewin'. Wounded beasts are dangerous creatures.

When I come back with the big silver tray, carryin' coffee pot, cups and saucers, sugar and cream, he's tellin' Miss Audra 'bout what's happened.

"Just a drunken Yaqui," he growls, firmly propped between the cushions on the settee, his leg restin' on the pouf.

I put the tray down on the marble table and start pourin' the coffee.

"But why, Nick, why?" Miss Audra asks, tryin' to cover him with a blanket which he's tryin' to fend off. "Did you know him?"

"Never seen the man."

Miss Audra done asserted herself now and sits down on the side rest, content with her efforts. S'been a warm day, yet a fire's blazin' in the fireplace.

I pass him the coffee, sugar added, and he starts stirrin' it angrily.

"Then why would he shoot you? Surely he couldn't hope to get away with it with all the hands around?"

"How would I know?" he asks irritably, sweat beadin' on his forehead and upper lip. "Heath went after him right away - nearly got stabbed for his efforts."

She's now taken to fannin' him with the "Almanac".

"Stabbed!" she cries. I cry with her, but not out loud.

"Yeah, but the General shot the Yaqui before he could get to him. Good man, the General. I'm just glad he's with them. Otherwise..." he shakes his head.

Miz Victoria and Mr. Jarrod come down and join us and I pass the coffee 'round. They both bear the long sufferin' look of people who've heard a special tirade jus' that one time too many.

"Now that we're back, we've got to inform de Koven, Fries, Carr and Royce," Mr. Jarrod remarks. "It wouldn't be fair not to tell them."

"They won't be happy," says Mr. Nick, lookin' flushed and feverish.

"I dare say."

"Audra, stop that," Miz Victoria, she says, acknowledgin' Mr. Nick's predicament.

"And take that blanket off me," he growls, sensin' support, "I'm smotherin' here."

"Where do you think they are now?" asks Miss Audra, foldin' the blanket.

"Should be halfways between Bakersfield and San Diego by now," says Mr. Nick, lookin' relieved and slightly cooler. "Another seven or eight days perhaps. Damn, I wish I was there. - Sorry, Mother."

"And," says Mr. Jarrod, "do you think he'll come back?"

"Why wouldn't he?" asks Mr. Nick amazed.

"Well now," says Mr. Jarrod, "you didn't make it exactly easy for him, did you? And then all that ready cash in his pockets after delivery, and close by the Mexican border..."

He can't be serious.

"You can't be serious," bellows Mr. Nick. "He won't steal from us."

For once I agree with him.

"Glad we're finally agreeing on that, Nick. Don't worry. I'm just playing devil's advocate here. You can be sure that de Koven, Fries and the others will ask us. These cattle are pretty much their whole fortune and they are in the care of a man they don't know."

"He's a good man," says Mr. Nick, surprisin' everybody, "reliable, works like a horse, doesn't talk back."

Mr. Jarrod raises his eyebrows. "I noticed that," he remarks mildly.

Mr. Nick seems to be uncomfortable suddenly and boxes a cushion into submission.

"What do you want, Jarrod? So, yes, I was wrong and he's not a crook out to get our money. He's a good man, yes, and if he was a hired hand I'd be sure glad to have him, but that still doesn't mean I want him for a brother. And I still think we've been too generous accepting him so easily as one of us."

"Oh, not that again," says Miss Audra, whackin' him on the knee of his injured leg with the "Almanac".

"OW!"

"Audra!" cries Miz Victoria.

Mr. Jarrod shakes his head. "How many times have we been through this now?"

"I was under the impression, Nicholas, that we've voted on this and that you were prepared to go along with the majority. And so far he certainly hasn't done anything to disappoint our expectations." says Miz Victoria. "He doesn't get along with the men though, does he?"

"Well, what do you want me to say, Mother?" Mr. Nick asks, rubbin' his knee, "Yes, there've been tussles, but what would you expect?"

"Tussles?" says Miss Audra upset.

"He's had a run-in with one or two of them. He has to establish himself, just like everybody else. Respect isn't given away for free, it has to be earned. And if he wants to be one of us, he has to learn how to handle the men."

"And you made it ever so much harder for him to do so, Brother Nick," says Mr. Jarrod.

"We've settled that."

"Now he's on this drive with forty men supposed to follow his orders - but will they? If anything happens it won't be his fault alone, just so you know."

Mr. Nick looks stubborn. "He's got Wallant with him, he'll do all right."

How he can expect a man who's so much as admitted he don't know a cow from a steer to be of any use on a cattle drive is beyond me, but what do I know? I leave the family to themselves and retreat into my kitchen to prepare dinner.

**********

The next mornin' we get visitors. Mr. Royce, Mr. de Koven, Mr. Fries and Mr. Carr all come together to investigate the fate of their cattle.

"I told you, Nick," says Mr. de Koven when I enter the parlor with my trusty coffee tray, "I told you I couldn't afford to loose that herd. Over my dead body, you said."

"Well, what do you want, Sam?" Mr. Nick says aggravated. "I had a bullet in the leg, you know. I wouldn't have left the herd if I'd had a choice and if I wasn't sure Heath could handle it."

"This... brother of yours," says Mr. Fries, "he's been here how long now? Two weeks before you left?"

"Yeah," says Mr. Nick, "and I've worked with him these two weeks. I know what he can do. And then there's McCall. He knows what he's doing, too. And General Wallant. He knows the country. Your cattle are safe."

They don't look convinced.

"So, let's say they get to San Diego safely... and on time... what makes you so sure he will not just take our money and take off to Mexico?" asks Mr. Carr.

"Yeah," agrees Mr. Royce.

"Let me tell you now that I will hold you and your family responsible for my losses, if that mongrel doesn't bring back every last cent of my money!" Carr says.

Unfortunately my hand slips and I splash him with coffee all over. Ooops. I always make sure the coffee's very hot when served.

After everything's cleaned up and I done apologized myself - I'm jus' an ol' man and my hands do get shaky from time to time - Mr. Jarrod says, "Now, what makes you say such a thing, Frank? First of all there's no need for such expressions. We have accepted him into the family. That means he's a Barkley now. That should be good enough for everybody. He stood with us when it counted and Swenson and Wirth are the better for it. And second, don't forget that he's handling our money, too. If we weren't sure we could trust him, we wouldn't have taken him in in the first place."

A good man is our Mr. Jarrod. True to his word.

**********

The telegram arrives on the afternoon of the twenty-third day since the herd has left. I take it from the messenger boy, tell him to wait and bring it in the parlor where the family's sittin' keepin' Mr. Nick company. As it's addressed to Mr. Jarrod I give it to him, then stand in the door waitin' if there's an answer.

Mr. Jarrod opens it and reads while the others are watchin' him.

"Is it from Heath?" Miz Victoria, she asks.

"Yes, Mother, it is," Mr. Jarrod says jubilantly and standin' up he reads aloud, "Arrived San Diego today stop cattle delivered stop back around fourteenth stop Heath".

"Hey, wait a minute," says Mr. Nick surprised, "he's a day early!"

"I knew it, I knew it," sings Miss Audra, dancin' through the parlor. Then she sits on the side of the settee and whacks Mr. Nick over the head with a cushion. "I knew he could do it."

"Audra!" says Miz Victoria, but she sure don't sound serious.

"Give the boy a dollar, Silas," says Mr. Jarrod and flips it to me. "That's very good news."

**********

I'm in my kitchen havin' me a cup of tea when there's thunder in the distance. I look out the window. Not a cloud. But from afar, comin' nearer, the dust rises from the ground and the thunder, growin' louder, turns into hoofbeats. Many riders. Comin' home.

I run into the parlor and shout, "They're back, they're comin'!"

Miz Victoria and Miss Audra jump up and Miss Audra's runnin' towards the door, cryin' for her brothers. Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Nick come out of the library and join them on the front steps and then the cavalcade turns into the gate, Mr. Heath ridin' in front. Behind the riders is the chuck wagon with a driver and Sal Li by his side. Whoa, such a dust cloud! I wave my hand in front of my face. There's horses every which where in the yard, all blowin' and whinnyin' now that they're home again and a good feedin' before them. Mr. Heath dismounts and Miss Audra flies into his arms, cryin', "You're back! How did it go? Oh, tell me all about it!"

He hugs her one-armed, holdin' his pony's bridle in the other hand and says, "Careful now! I'm all grimy and dusty, watch out for your dress!" But he's grinnin' and you can see he's glad of the welcome.

Then Miz Victoria takes his arm and says, "Good heavens, Audra, let him settle down first! - Welcome home, Heath!"

And Mr. Jarrod pats him on the shoulder and says, "Good to have you back, Heath!"

Even Mr. Nick shakes his hand, sayin' "Good job, boy!"

Mr. McCall comes over and takes the pony's bridle, sayin', "You give me that, son. I'll look after her. You go with your family now."

He looks somewhat overwhelmed by all the attention, but they just drag him in and when he comes by me he says, "Howdy, Silas!" and smiles like he's real glad to see me. Warms my heart, it does.

They retreat into the parlor and he hands his saddle bags over to Mr. Jarrod and says, "All inside."

"We'll see to that later," says Mr. Jarrod and puts them down on the table.

"How's the leg, Nick?" asks Mr. Heath.

"Doin' fine," says Mr. Nick, leanin' on his cane. "Take a load off."

"Sure glad to hear it," Mr. Heath says and keeps standin'.

"Now tell us, Heath, how did it go?" asks Miz Victoria and sits down on the settee, where Miss Audra joins her, lookin' at him eagerly.

"Fine," he says, pattin' the dust off his jacket with his hat until I come and take it from him.

Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Nick sit down on them high-backed chairs and look at him expectantly.

"You were a day early!" says Mr. Jarrod.

"Made good time," Mr. Heath nods.

"So, no more Yaquis?" asks Mr. Nick.

"Nope."

"And General Wallant? You parted in San Diego?"

"Yeah, 'bout that," Mr. Heath says uneasy, "thing is I shot him."

"What?" bellows Mr. Nick, jumpin' up from where he's sittin'.

Mr. Jarrod and Miz Victoria stare at him, speechless. Miss Audra done covered her mouth with her hand.

"You shot General Wallant?" Mr. Jarrod asks disbelieving-like.

Mr. Heath ignores him, his eyes fixed on Mr. Nick. "I'm sorry, Nick," he goes on, "but he wasn't what he said he was. He wasn't with the army. He was... a mercenary. Just another hired gun."

Mr. Nick limps over to him and stands before him, loomin'-like.

"Boy, you better be able to prove that before you besmirch a great man's reputation," Mr. Nick says threatenin'.

Mr. Heath, he backs off the tiniest bit and Mr. Jarrod says, "Nick, let him tell it!"

"I told you, I'd seen his horse before. And then I remembered when. It was somethin' your mother said -" he looks at her and she smiles at him encouraging.

"It was at Sample's place. He was with the railroad people. You don't forget a horse like that. So, I was... suspicious. And when he shot that Yaqui -"

"He had shot me! He was about to stab you!" Mr. Nick shouts, clenchin' his fist. "That man saved your life!"

"Nick, that Yaqui was helpless. He'd broken his back. Wallant shot him so he couldn't tell on him."

"That's not true!"

Mr. Heath shrugs wearily. "Then, the night you left for Bakersfield, he left the camp and I followed him."

"Why'd you do that?" Mr. Nick asks, painfully contained.

"Don't you think it strange for him to leave in the middle of the night, secretly - and it wasn't the first time."

"You followed him before?"

"No, I didn't mean that. But I saw him comin' back that other time and I wondered. So, this time I followed him and found him meetin' some people at an abandoned old line shack. When they broke up, I had a look inside and found it was full of rifles, ammunition and explosives. So, I had a pretty good idea what he was up to."

"Which was?" asks Mr. Jarrod.

"Stealin' our men. I think he was with the railroad crowd to convince some of the men to join him and when that didn't pan out, well, he went after our hands. He told us there was no lake, so we would take the route he wanted. And then he had Nick shot because he knew the men were loyal to him.

"And after you were gone, Nick, right the next mornin' they broke away with him, leavin' the herd, to join Diaz in Mexico. He'd promised them land and gold and what not and they were fool enough to believe him. I tried to hold them back, but..." he shrugs again.

"They wouldn't stay with me. Other than McCall there were only five of them who weren't willing to follow him. Now, I couldn't drive three thousand cattle with seven men, me included. I had to get them back somehow."

"And how did you manage that?" Mr. Jarrod asks, soundin' as if he's not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

"Cut off his supplies and entrenched myself in the line shack. So, he had the men, but I had his rifles. When he turned up, I tried to talk to him, but it was useless. He was... insane. Inhuman. He good as told me that those men were to him just sheep for the slaughter. They tried to storm the shack then, but those guys... they're cow hands, not assassins. Had to graze Brown's leg though to convince them."

Miss Audra gasps. "But it could have blown up all over you!"

"Unlikely," he says, undaunted, "they needed those rifles, they weren't goin' to blow them up. They were careful to aim pretty high." He grins.

"Then he must've turned mad, 'cause he shouted "Charge!" and came full on, didn't even notice they weren't followin' him any longer. I asked him to give up, but he... took a shot at me... and I..." his shoulders sag. "I can't even rightly say that I'm sorry I shot him. He was rabid. But I'm sorry for you, Nick. I know you admired him."

"I don't believe you," Mr. Nick says, his face white.

"Figured that," says Mr. Heath. "Ask the men."

"Be sure I will," says Mr. Nick in a low voice. Then he limps out without a further word.

Mr. Heath heaves a deep sigh. Mr. Jarrod comes over to him and grabs his shoulder. "Come on now, sit down," he says, leading Mr. Heath over to the settee, where Miz Victoria takes his arm. Then he grabs a chair and sits down right in front of him.

"What happened to the weapons?"

"Well, after we had buried the general, we boarded everything up. Didn't want anyone stumblin' over it."

"Good thinking!" says Mr. Jarrod. "But why didn't you send a man over to Bakersfield to let the Sheriff know?"

"Jarrod, I had only fourteen days left to reach San Diego and I wanted to make it on time."

"Which you did, my boy, which you did," says Mr. Jarrod delighted, pattin' Mr. Heath's knee.

Mr. Heath's grins tired-like and goes on, "Went to Bakersfield on the way back and talked to the sheriff. It's all cleared up. He's taken care of the stuff in the shack, too."

"That was very courageous, Heath," Miz Victoria, she says, "and we're all grateful that you're back home safe. Don't worry about Nick. He'll come around. It's just that you've pushed his hero off his pedestal and that's hard for him to take."

"Thank you, ma'am," he says, lookin' down. He looks very young, exhausted... and awfully dirty.

"I pump you a nice hot bath, Mr. Heath," I say.

He looks up hopefully. "That'd be nice, Silas," he says.

I run off and hear him followin' me slowly. Even his footsteps sound tired.

**********

When I come back to the parlor, Mr. Jarrod's just sayin, "Well, of all the tales of high deeds and derring-do... Who would have thought it!"

"He's his father's son, Jarrod," says Miz Victoria, "every inch his father's son."

They smile at each other, content in the knowledge to have done right, when Mr. Nick comes limpin' in and throws himself in a chair.

"He's right in everything he says," he says dumbfounded. "McCall's confirmed everything he's told us."

"You didn't seriously doubt it, did you?" Mr. Jarrod asks gently.

Mr. Nick laughs bitterly. "I didn't want to believe it."

Miz Victoria walks over to him and puts her hands on his shoulders, standing behind his chair. "You owe him an apology, my dear," she declares, "and I would very much like it settled today."

"Yes, Mother," he answers meekly.

Then she beckons me to follow her and we go into the kitchen to see to dinner.

When Mr. Heath comes down again, bathed and shaved and in fresh clothes, lookin' much revived, he joins the others in the parlor and Mr. Nick himself pours him a drink. Handin' it to him he says, "Well, I guess I owe you an apology."

"That ain't necessary, Nick," says Mr. Heath, but Mr. Nick raises his glass and goes on, "You were right and I was wrong and that's that. You did a mighty big job bringin' that herd in on time - even a day early -" he grins, showin' his dimple, "and I, well... I guess I'm glad. So, welcome home."

Well, that's Mr. Nick for you. Quick to anger and with one hell of a temper, but he don't hold a grudge and he will give credit where 'tis due.

"Thanks, Nick," Mr. Heath says and grins back.

"Dinner's served!" say I and they all go for my chicken and dumplings.

**********

Later, when they've gathered in the parlor again, they all insist on Mr. Heath givin' a day-by-day account of the drive and he does tell them. I never seen him so chipper before. He knows he done a good job and I think Mr. Nick sayin' so jus' 'bout made his day. It does my ol' heart good, seein' them like this, like a real family, and I think Mr. Tom would be right proud of them. Four strappin' sons and a beautiful daughter - who could wish for more?

"Not only water in that dry lake, but you oughta see the trout - the size of your feet!" Mr. Heath, he says to Mr. Nick.

"Uh, is that with or without his boots on?" Mr. Jarrod teases.

"You were saying about the steer...?" Miz Victoria nudges him, as Mr. Nick turns quietly away and limps over to the window.

"Yeah, listen, we got this lophorn..."

"That crazy red!" remembers Miss Audra.

"Well, anyway all the way down somebody always had to be hazing him back to the herd and when we got to San Diego, wouldn't you know it, we couldn't get him on..."

Miz Victoria joins Mr. Nick at the window and I go out and search for Sal Li. I find him in the renovated cookhouse, caressin' the shiny new black stove.

"Nee how," I say and bow.

"Ne hao," he answers and bows very deep.

"I'm glad to see you home safe, Sal Li," I say, "how was the trip?"

His eyes get round as saucers, he takes a deep breath and tells me everything in Chinese, wavin' and flappin' his arms, dancin' what seems to be a fight between a pair of barn cats or somethin' and makin' "Pow! Pow!" noises to indicate shootin'.

"Uh, yes," I say, steppin' back slowly.

He stops, reconsiders and says, "Mistel Nick pow! All hands leavin' with genelal. Take wagon. Sal Li alone. Many beef. Mistel Heas stop genelal. Genelal pow! Mistel Heas pow! Genelal dead. Mistel Heas golden tigel. Bling back hands. Go San Diego. Golden tigel." He bows very deep again.

"Golden tigel?" I say havin' no idea what he means.

"Tigel," he says, barin' his teeth and makin' claws with his hands. "Is Chinese vely blave. Hands say blass balls, huh?"

"Uhm, well," I splutter, "that's right. Anyway, good to have you home, Sal Li."

"Fine kitchen," he beams, polishin' his new stove.


End file.
